7 Minutes
by torpe-t
Summary: The final minutes of Episode 18 in Kirika's POV.


Author's notes:

Just a little drabble that turned into a ficlet. This is unbetad so I'm gonna ask forgiveness beforehand for the wince-worthy glitches you would find there.

There is mild shoujoai but nothing shocking

Spoiler: Episode 18

Lastly, I'm a new writer so feedback would be greatly appreciated.

PS I can't seem to format it the way I wanted to, seemingly not allowing it. My apologies.

* * *

**7 Minutes**

_Seven minutes_

You clutch the back of the driver seat. Though silent - no other words having left your mouth after the rushed "Yustov Square. Hurry" – the cab driver seems to understand your unvoiced urgings to hasten. Maybe the quickened and shallow breathing that you cannot quieten completely gives you away. It seems deafening in the otherwise silent cab.

Whatever, you don't care. All you can think of is time. The rushing of your blood as it courses from the rapidly betting heart of yours, along with the shallow breaths, are the only noise you pay attention – and even that is done subconsciously. Illogical as it maybe, you think they tick with time; the accursed seconds slipping fast.

_Six minutes_

The outside scenery whizzes by, while you pay no heed to it.

Without you noticing, your legs start to shake, going up and down in a nervous, panicky rhythm.

The hand on the headrest of the driver seat is white, ghost white.

_Five minutes_

Your eyes burn, fiery in their impatience.

And, although he can't see you, the driver seems to feel your burning gaze as your eyes swing wildly – from the clock on the dashboard, to the back of the headrest, to the scenery outside which doesn't register to you at all, and back to the clock again.

_Four minutes_

Your other hand, the one resting on your lap, tightens further. Dimly, you can feel your nails pressing into your palm – the effect of a prolonged and tight curled fist. It bounces along with the anxious movement of your right leg.

_Three minutes_

Finally, the square is in sight.

You don't seem to think at all, your actions automatic, brought about my adrenaline, emotions, and instinct.

Hurriedly, you fling bills at the driver, at the same time, swinging open the door in a wild motion.

The car hasn't fully stopped when you alight from it, seemingly flying from the back seat.

The shout of the driver doesn't register. Your only focus is to find a blond head – the head that you know better, and cherish more, than your own.

_Two minutes_

You still haven't found what you're looking for.

As your mind locks into "protection-mode," you remember dimly – your head is foggy; the onslaught of emotions bringing that result – that you left your gun at the apartment.

You don't think consciously as you swipe a toy car from a booth, your head and eyes – your whole self – concerned only with finding Mireille before it's too late.

_One minute_

There! In the lower level of the square.

You see that blond head, the one etched on the very core of your being.

_50 seconds_

You run towards the stairway leading to the lower level where, near the exit, meters away from your position, Mireille is walking to the egress.

_45 seconds_

Gripping the stair handle with your right hand, you used it for leverage to jump down, the left hand holding the toy car swinging in an arc as you go down.

Your breath puffs when you land.

_40 seconds_

As you run, your left hand crushes the toy car it was holding, the ruined parts falling heedlessly to the ground.

_30 seconds_

Other people temporarily intercept your sight; impatient and intolerant, you shoved them out of the way.

You can't – and you won't – lose sight of Mireille.

_20 seconds_

Your getting nearer and your breaths are getting shallower. The burning in your legs and lungs is inconsequential.

You can see her clearly now, amidst the throng of people. Her assassin is among them, somewhere behind her.

_15 seconds_

Your eyes zero in to a man – short, round, middle-aged – details you take in but pay no attention to.

A short distance from him, you see Mireille look back and search for something.

She doesn't notice him, passing him over. No doubt he blends in.

_10 seconds_

As you get nearer, your vision narrows into a single frame.

_9 seconds_

You adjust your grip on the wheel axel.

_8 seconds_

You hold the wheel in the space between your middle and index finger, pressing your thumb against the wheel.

_7 seconds_

As you come nearer, you focus on his neck.

_6 seconds_

You are now just short of two meters away from him and your breaths puff out quicker.

_5 seconds_

You aim at the area you will puncture, mentally gauging and preparing for the force necessary for it to sink through skin and burst blood vessel.

Your focus is unshakeable.

_4 seconds_

You see Mireille stop; your heart seems to cease breathing and your throat muscles clench.

_3 seconds_

The man stops moving, and from behind, you take note of the movement of his arm.

_2 seconds_

Mireille has turned her head and finally notice the man trailing her with a silencer in his hand.

You close the three feet separating you from him; simultaneously your left arm swings upwards.

_1 second_

The man's finger tightens on the trigger.

Mireille gasps.

You arm swings down and the innocent-looking axel punctures his neck. Perfect timing, perfect pressure, perfect aim.

_8:15 pm_

The man makes a surprised grunt and starts to fall as you step away from him, your hand with the wheel axle coming away from his neck as you step away and reveal yourself to your shaken partner.

_8:16 pm_

You take in Mireille fully, checking for injuries before locking your eyes with hers.

Your heart finally starts to loosen up, to go back down from your throat. You breathe a sigh of relief.


End file.
